The Kayla Archives

i have known myself for 6479 days. i've looked in a mirror at least that many times. it's safe to say i know myself. the small faded scar on my forehead, my right eye that is always more squinty  than the left when i smile, the tiny new hairs growing out of my part that  never stay down,  the shade of green my eyes  turn after i've been crying.  i know it all  but i wonder what i would think  if today  i were to see myself for the first time. would i think she is beautiful   she is happy, she has everything going for her, why can't i be like her? i can't count the times i  have met someone  and thought those same things. allowed comparison to spring up inside me and envy to quietly flood my mind, subconsciously or not. but i've started to realize my mistake. everyone wrestles with their own demons,  that battle can be exhausting each day we get up in the morning  is a success.  i hope if i were to see myself for  the first tim

sometimes my soul longs for the companionship of a person i'll never see in this life. there are days my heart breaks because i miss him so much. an older brother, born still and silent. his purpose was not in this world. he has a mission that i can't understand.  but there are days i swear i can feel him. days like today when my heart seems to grow ever so slightly for him enter in. i know he is watching over me. helping to guide me safely to the day, when i see my best friend again.

Dermatillomania.  Commonly referred to as skin-picking disorder. disorder. disorder. disorder. That word.  As if I don't already feel bad enough about the fact that since the age of two I haven't been able to control the compulsion to pick at my own skin. As If I'm not already ashamed. As If explaining the scars isn't already hard enough. I don't want to explain for the thousandth time that  IT'S NOT SELF HARM, It's a variety of OCD... (not that that makes it sound any better) disorder.   disorder. disorder. " Dermatillomania : The primary characteristic of Skin Picking Disorder (also known as Dermatillomania or Excoriation) is the repetitive picking at one’s own skin to the extent of causing damage.” I pick at my skin because something else is picking at my mind, and I have fifteen and a half years worth of scars to show for it.  I hate when people ask about them. I'm tired of explaining it, of that word.

They didn’t used to let us color with permanent marker. In kindergarten they gave us  crayons, and when the boy next to you tried to color on you, the wax slid down your arm  and didn’t leave a mark. In first grade they trusted us with  colored pencils. Sometimes the boy would poke at you, and if he’d just sharpened it, it stung for a second. But it didn’t leave a mark. In second grade they gave us  markers . And the boy discovered that when he drew on people  it would stay . But we were able to wash off his marks when we got home that afternoon. I’m not sure when we discovered permanent markers. But by junior high we all had one, and the boy didn’t have to draw on us anymore. We did it for him. Long black marks that didn’t wash off for what felt like forever, and we’re still carrying around our permanent markers. Marking ourselves and those around us in a desperate attempt to create, or sometimes to destroy. A beautiful flower for a kind word or a smile, and a long jagged line through

your voice is like an empty tin can an orange leaf in late-november clumsily clinging to the tree a worn record played on repeat like you're gargling sugar like cherry cough medicine a fog that warms the stale air of your assisted living bedroom a new song played on an 83-year-old piano like chocolate covered potato chips like your heart has taken up residence in your throat echoes in an empty concert hall

it'll all be okay then it won't be okay and it'll be okay again and that's okay.